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Invitations of the Wild Child, a poem by Liza Hyatt

Invitations of the Wild Child
by Liza Hyatt

Now my turn.
Watch me dance.
Tell me a story that travels down my spine.
Once the giant stood overhead.
Now, look,
Orion is lying down.
Morning vibrates.
Clouds curl,
swoop down.
The kingfisher
dives red down into the water.
We’ll run through the tree tunnel.
Play in the vine house.
Live by learning wild things.
Inside is a forest,
near where the sea wind meets bone,
full mooned.
Here is a crimson flower in loam.
Learn by living the wild learning.
I’ll pick this flower.
It is just under the skin,
small and excited,
a heart pushed alone from the womb.

Bio: Liza Hyatt is the author of The Mother Poems (Chatter House Press, 2014); Stories Made of World (Finishing Line Press, 2013); and Under My Skin (WordTech Editions, 2012). She plays the Celtic harp and often accompanies herself with the harp, bardic style. She hosts a monthly poetry reading/open mic at Lawrence Art Center on Indianapolis’ east side.